I Don't Do Too Well On My Own
by Tropical Medlies
Summary: There's a story behind those scars and she wants to know it, but stories like that aren't easy to tell or hear. One-shot.


There are scars on Imogen's wrists.

Long, thin, horizontal scars that sometimes cross over one another. Some are older than others, some are deeper than others.

Imogen usually hides them behind colorful bracelets or gloves or long sleeves, but Fiona's seen them countless times, eyes always flicking down whenever she gets the chance. There's a story behind those scars and she wants to know it, but stories like that aren't easy to tell or hear.

One night, the two of them are lying together on Fiona's bed, fully-clothed, and just talking about everything. Imogen's taken off her glasses and, God, Fiona likes her eyes so much when they aren't covered, and her head is propped up on her hand. Her sleeve has dropped down just enough for some of the pale pink, almost white lines to be visible, and Fiona's heart jumps into her throat. This is her moment, her head is telling her, this is her moment, this is her moment, this is her moment -

Almost without really thinking she reaches out, fingers closing around Imogen's wrist. Imogen starts, not trying to move away, but not exactly sure what to do, either. Fiona sits up and pulls her girlfriend's hand into her lap, palm-up, and pushes down her sleeve to the crook of her elbow, finally getting a clear picture. It's a virtual sketch of lines interconnecting all across pale skin, and Fiona's eyes water just looking at it.

She licks her lips, trying to find something to say, head still bowed. It's Imogen who breaks the silence.

"I was in a really bad place," she starts off softly. "It was sophomore year. My mom, she had a heart attack, she just - gone. Didn't even have time to know what was going on. And then my dad, he just started getting quieter and quieter and, you know, spacier. Things got different. It was like he wasn't there anymore and it was just me. All by myself." She stops for a minute, watching as Fiona gently traces one of the lines with the pad of her forefinger.

"I never really had friends. Ever. I was always weird. Obsessive, people said. No one wanted me around. I just started because it made me feel - it made me feel - " she falters, trying to find the right words, but Fiona doesn't even need to hear it. She knows. She knows exactly how it feels, because that's how alcohol felt for her. She knows what it's like to try and dull loneliness with something, anything.

"No. No, I get it. That's how I was when I drank."

"And that's why I wanted to defend you at that party when they wanted you to drink."

"Oh, Im. I never knew."

"Not a lot of people care enough to know that I tried to kill myself."

The words catch Fiona off-guard because they're so blunt, said so carelessly, that Fiona gets the impression that Imogen has had a lot of time to reflect back on what she tried to do and she's made peace with her attempt. She doesn't know when it happened - did she know Imogen at this point? How did she do it? When, why, where; all questions plaguing her head that Fiona doesn't want to think about right now and, God, she could use a drink. She really, really could.

There's a long, long pause, with Imogen looking down at Fiona, and Fiona realizes that this is the first time that Imogen's been able to be honest with anyone about this. She hasn't had friends to tell about this, and she hasn't had a father to help her, and she's finally got Fiona and she's probably expecting Fiona to make a run for it. Which is ridiculous, because Imogen hasn't left Fiona's side despite knowing Fiona is an alcoholic who could relapse at any moment. Finally, Fiona curls herself into Imogen, clutching onto her for dear life, and she can't imagine her life without this girl and she doesn't care how selfish she sounds right now. "I'm so glad you didn't because I need you in my life so much, Imogen Moreno."

"You're my coping mechanism."

Fiona glances up at her curiously.

"What?"

Imogen shrugs her shoulders, looking a bit self-conscious now.

"Whenever I want to - whenever I feel like I want to hurt myself, I just think about you. You're my coping mechanism. Like how you describe the room or break down the reasons why not to drink or anything."

Fiona laughs a little, the sound reverberating against Imogen's side, and Imogen blushes scarlet.

"You're dumb. Don't you know you're mine, too?"

Imogen takes the information in, turning it over in her mind, and finally nods. Yeah. She can see that.

It's actually a little terrifying how dependent they are on each other sometimes, but it's a system that works, and why fix what isn't broken?


End file.
